


Push Button, Receive Apology

by Laylah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Established Relationship, In Public, M/M, Makeup Sex, Merged World, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:03:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I got you this." He sets a tiny box on the table between you and nudges it in your direction with psionics. You stare at it. It's the right size to hold a human-style commitment-designation ring, which you sometimes think would be a cool thing to have but as far as you know he's <i>never</i> been interested in. "For those times when I'm being a jackass and you need to snap me out of it." A little smile, a hint of the smug asslord creeping back in around the edges of the apologetic matesprit. "Or when you just want a shortcut to getting my attention."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push Button, Receive Apology

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tanglelore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanglelore/gifts).



Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you have the worst matesprit in history. You have been fuming about this since yesterday morning, when the aforementioned romantic failure invited you over to his place and then broke off in the middle of foreplay on the grounds that he'd just had "a breakthrough" with the code he was working on for his job. Yes, okay, you need to work long hours when you try to found a business, even doing it human-style where "annihilating the competition" is metaphorical. But last night when you had your hand down his pants was _not_ the time to get inspired for sudden overtime hours. So you're fuming.

Around midnight, just as you're getting ready to take your mid-shift meal break, he trolls you.

TA: hey kk 2orry agaiin about la2t niight  
CG: YOU'VE SAID, YEAH. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT.  
TA: ehehe, not ready two forgiive me yet, huh  
CG: THIS WOULD BE THE UNMATCHED GRASP OF LOGIC THAT GOT YOU HIRED IN THE FIRST PLACE, WOULDN'T IT.  
TA: 2omethiing like that  
CG: SO WHAT DO YOU WANT. I'M BUSY.  
TA: are you bu2y later on? liike, after you get off work?  
CG: OH MY GOD, YOU GLUTEMUNCHING SHITSTAIN, YOU DUMP ME FOR THE EROTIC THRILLS OF CODING AND YOU EXPECT TO BE ABLE TO GET BACK IN MY PANTS LESS THAN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER? "I'M JUST GOING TO LEAVE KARKAT FONDLING HIS GLOBES WAITING FOR ME WHILE I FUCK AROUND DOING *GENIUS HACKER HOOFBEAST SHIT* FOR HOURS, BECAUSE I KNOW HE'S GOT NOTHING BETTER TO DO! THAT'S PERFECTLY REASONABLE REDROM BEHAVIOR!"  
TA: you know you 2ound liike the lowblood iin one of tho2e crappy moviie2 of your2 riight now  
CG: ...FUCK YOU.  
CG: THEY'RE GOOD MOVIES.  
TA: 2o do you want thii2 diinner iinviitatiion or not?  
CG: I DON'T KNOW, I MIGHT HAVE THINGS TO DO LATER.  
TA: becau2e ii got a re2ervatiion at ram2ei'2, my treat.

You stare at your screen. It damn well better be his treat, you can't _afford_ to eat at Ramsei's. It's a place for—reflexively you want to say 'highbloods,' even though the new world doesn't line up as neatly as that, with humans having a whole different scale and everything. It's a place for people who are a lot higher on the important-douchebags pyramid than you've ever been.

CG: THE JOB'S TREATING YOU THAT WELL?  
TA: ii wouldnt want two make a habiit of iit or anythiing, iit ju2t 2eem2 liike a good tiime two giive you 2omethiing niice.  
CG: YOU CAN'T JUST BUY ME OFF, JUST SO YOU KNOW.  
CG: WHAT TIME.  
TA: fiive fiifteen.  
CG: I'LL SEE YOU THERE.  
TA: <3  
CG: ....  
CG: <3 

He signs off and you wonder what the hell you're going to _wear_. Isn't there a dress code at places like that? Fuck. 

Fortunately, this is the crisis your moirail has been waiting for since your first pap. She knows exactly what to suggest out of your existing wardrobe to make you look less like a grouchy data entry drone and more like a capable young troll who's fucking _going_ places and expects people to get out of his way. You think you should get flowers delivered to the boutique where she works.

At ten after five you get out of a cab a block away from Ramsei's and walk the rest of the way, hands in your pockets, doing your best to look nonchalant. You come here all the time. You're not intimidated at all.

Sollux is waiting for you outside the restaurant, shoulders hunched defensively as he peers down the street in the other direction. Your bloodpusher twinges with pity; the way he looks so awkward and uncomfortable in his body has always gotten to you. You're mad at him, you remind yourself, and then wonder how much you want to hold a grudge. He's trying to make it up to you, right?

You'll decide how mad you are when you see how much of an arrogant bulgebite he is over dinner, you figure. That seems like a good strategy.

His face brightens when he sees you, and he smiles in a way that doesn't seem to have any superior bullshit attitude going on at all. Like he's actually happy to see you. Like he's... relieved? Fuck, you aren't going to be able to stay mad.

"Hi, KK," he says, and leans down to give you a quick kiss. "You look great. Did KN pick out that outfit?"

"Fuck you," you snap, and Sollux actually winces.

"Shit, that's not what I meant," he says. "I'm so bad at this being-in-the-barkbeast-hive thing. You look really nice, end of line."

"You're great at being in the barkbeast hive," you say. "It's getting back out again that you suck at." But it's honestly kind of pathetic just how bad he is at romance, and you're smiling back at him like the flush-struck moron you are. "Come on, I'm starving."

The restaurant is so fancy inside that your hindbrain starts making _oh shit flee_ noises, but you try not to let it show. You can do this. You're a suave subterrorist like Troll James Bond, though admittedly without the deadly sexbomb date. (Deadly you'll give him. Sexbomb not so much.)

The host shows you to your table, this secluded corner with excellent views of any angle of approach. The part of you that still has an unfortunate boner for the threshecutioner life appreciates that little detail. The highblood lifestyle is still all excitement and danger.

Your menu doesn't even have prices listed on it, that's how fucking fancy Ramsei's is. Sollux knew what he was signing up for, you tell yourself. Your job is to just browse the three sections—Earth, Alternia, and Fusion—and pick something awesome. It's probably all awesome. This is an easy job. You can do it.

You settle on a souffle thing made with a tiny earth species of grub, and Sollux gets the mixed arthropod tempura, and then like a showoff he orders a bottle of nectar for you to share.

"Holy fuck," you say as the waiter walks off, and Sollux flinches like he's bracing for you to say something scathing. It takes the wind right out of your canvas ship propellant devices. "You're really going all out, aren't you?"

"I don't actually _like_ pissing you off, KK," he says. You raise an eyebrow. "Okay, sometimes I like it right when I'm doing it but it's dumb? And I get that? You know I suck at keeping my quadrants straight. Even when I don't want to mess things up. And I don't, I really don't want to drive you off."

Goddamnit. Your pump biscuit melts a little and you reach for his hand. "Come on, give me a little credit," you say. "I knew what I was getting into with you."

He pulls back before you can grasp his bony phalanges. "Let me finish, I wasn't done." 

You huff, and gesture for him to keep going. 

"I got you this." He sets a tiny box on the table between you and nudges it in your direction with psionics. You stare at it. It's the right size to hold a human-style commitment-designation ring, which you sometimes think would be a cool thing to have but as far as you know he's _never_ been interested in. "For those times when I'm being a jackass and you need to snap me out of it." A little smile, a hint of the smug asslord creeping back in around the edges of the apologetic matesprit. "Or when you just want a shortcut to getting my attention."

You frown at the box. What exactly did he just give you? He's watching expectantly now, eyebrows arched, fangs denting his lower lip. You open the box gingerly, wary of whatever bad ideas he might have managed to cram into this small space.

"A remote control?" You lift it out of the tissue paper, frowning at it. There's a power button and two adjustment wheels, but no labels. "Do I even want to know what this goes to?"

"I'll give you a hint," he says. "I'm wearing it right now."

What—oh. _Oh_. "Okay, let me get this straight: you're apologizing to me by asking me to indulge your secret public sex fantasy?"

"No, that's not—well, I mean—nnh!"

Okay, _wow_ , the way he suddenly chokes on the excuse he was about to make, the way he jolts in his seat, that helpless bared-teeth face—you thumb the power button. "You okay? I mean, that's what you wanted?"

"That was just a little sudden, is all. The intensity's set pretty high."

You don't get a chance to apologize before the waiter comes back with the nectar Sollux ordered, and by the time he's sniffed at it and sipped it and made approving noises it seems like he's doing fine. You toy with the remote visibly when he tips the bottle to pour for you, and he pauses, giving you a wary look that's honestly pretty great.

"What?" you ask, doing your best to fake innocence. "Go ahead, pour."

"You're going to make me sorry I gave you that, aren't you?"

"Wasn't the idea that you were already sorry?" You put down the remote control and pick up your glass. "This does look really good."

Sollux picks up his glass and reaches out to touch it to yours. "Still friends?"

"Idiot," you say fondly. Your glasses chime together. "You're stuck with me."

The nectar is pretty amazing. It has about as much in common with Gamzee's awful soda as... well, as dinner at Ramsei's has with microwaved grubcorn stuffed in your facegash in front of the husktop. You take a sip, then another one, letting it sit on your tongue and light up all the pleasure centers in the primitive parts of your thinkpan. Life isn't so bad after all.

When the food arrives, it's even better than you'd expected from the place's reputation (and you've watched a _lot_ of episodes of Nutritionblock Attrition when you couldn't sleep, okay). This is magic happening in your face, except better because it's real, and you tell Sollux as much between bites. He only preens a little bit, entirely within tolerable limits.

"So tell me about this breakthrough that got you so excited last night," you say eventually. Your free hand toys with the remote control under the table, dialing the wheels all the way down.

"You sure? You're not jealous of my code anymore?"

"I'm in a good mood. Don't try to fuck it up."

"Ehehehe. When you put it that way." His grasp of programming _is_ beyond you; you're troll enough to admit that now. You can sort of follow it when he starts explaining what he figured out, but only in the vaguest sense. Mostly you're just setting him up to multitask here. You push the power button on the remote.

At first he doesn't seem to notice, which is a little disappointing, but whatever. Maybe he's trying to ignore it. You _did_ turn the intensity all the way down. You make noncommittal noises as you slowly nudge the first dial upward.

"—which means when it _does_ call the function, it's twice as f-fast as, asth—" He breaks off, baring his teeth at you. "You asked me to talk about this."

"I did," you agree. You try moving the other wheel a little, and his breath hitches. "Keep going, I'm listening."

Sollux takes a quick sip of his nectar, swallows hard, licks his lips. "Right, so as I was saying, twice as fast as the existing code, which doesn't sound like a lot when you're talking about microseconds, but you have to m-multiply that...." He trails off, lips parted, tongue just visible.

"Mmm," you say. "Would you say this is more like multiplying?" You nudge the first dial. "Or this?"

His horns spark faintly, and you ease both dials back a little. "The second one," he says. You love that hint of unevenness in his voice. "The first one is... patterns?"

The waiter appears to clear your plates away, and pauses before leaving again. "Would their honorable terrors care for dessert?"

God, it's just like you're highbloods. "Yes," you say, without taking your eyes off Sollux. "Definitely."

"You're having fun watching me squirm," he says after the waiter has disappeared.

"This was your brilliant idea, pailbiter," you say comfortably. "Were you wrong?"

He's trying to glare at you from behind his dumb glasses, you're pretty sure. "Did I say that?"

"Just checking." You sit back in your chair and nudge the intensity up a tiny bit more. When the dessert menu comes out you pick something at random, watching Sollux instead of actually reading anything. His reactions are way more interesting than even the fanciest food.

But maybe you _should_ have been paying attention, because whatever Sollux ordered arrives dripping with red syrup, and when he lifts the spoon to his mouth it's clear he had ulterior motives. He licks the stuff from his spoon, his tongue making slow exploratory passes, leaving a smudge of red at the corner of his mouth. You find yourself a little more aware of the beat of your blood, the way it gets redirected when your matesprit has your full attention.

The light in here is pretty dim but you'd swear you can see him blushing. He squirms slightly as he takes up his next obscene spoonful of syrupy mess, watching you over the rims of his glasses—you can tell, by now, when he's looking at you—while he laps up sticky red fluid. You nudge the pattern dial on the remote and he shivers.

He knows you so well. This is what you really wanted, after feeling slighted yesterday—the fancy food is great too, sure, but what you want, what you _crave_ , is this connection, the feeling that right now you're the most important thing in his world, the way he so often is in yours. You can't take your eyes off him right now, and your bulge is a thickening heat in your pants.

You shut the power off. He startles.

"I think it's time to go home," you say.

Sollux grins. He gets the check brought over and paid for faster than you would have believed possible, and there are already taxis waiting outside. Must be a lot of regular business from a place like this, though; it makes sense. 

You give the driver your address, and Sollux curls up to your side as you settle in. "Hi," he says. "I had a feeling you'd enjoy that."

"You clearly did, too," you point out. "Are you actually sorry for standing me up?"

"Come on, KK, how can you doubt me after I gave you something so nice?" he says. You flip the power back on. Sollux whines, burying his face in the hollow of your throat. "Yes, god, I'm sorry, you're going to make me come in my pants if you keep it up like that, I'm so turned on right now it hurts."

"Don't you dare," you murmur, easing back the intensity to make that a little easier. "I want to at least see what you've wired up to your junk before you come all over it."

He groans, and you glance up at the rearview mirror reflexively. The taxi driver has probably seen it all before, and worse, but just because she's jaded doesn't mean you are. "It's maddening," Sollux goes on, his breath warm against your throat, his claws pricking at your skin through your expensive shirt. "I'm full, but not full enough, and it moves, but not naturally, not like your bulge does," and at that point you turn your head and kiss him just so he can't say anything else to make your wiggly more insistent. His mouth is soft, despite the ludicrous number of fangs in it, and he tastes like nectar. You suck on his tongue, drinking in the tiny involuntary pleading sounds he makes, trading slow, languid kisses and breathing each other in. You want to never stop.

The taxi driver coughs, and you realize that while you were busy sucking face she's driven all the way back to your hive. You fumble for cash to pay her, blushing hot, while Sollux opens the door and stumbles out of the cab. You follow him without waiting for your change. He's fumbling with his keys, which is a really clear sign of how far gone he is; you reach around him to steady his hand and guide the key into the lock. He's so hot against you, straight through the layers of your clothes.

His psionics start pricking at your skin almost before you get inside. "Don't you _dare_ rip this suit off me," you say, hauling him toward your respiteblock. "Kanaya will kill both of us."

"Hurry up, then," he says, and no, he's gotten entirely too smug again and you were liking the part where he was a helpless mess. You crank up the remote's dials and he lets go of you to dive for a pail.

You still hurry getting out of your suit, and you do fuck up one of the buttons, but at least that's fixable. Yesterday's frustration is coming back to you with interest, and god do you want to be over there with him. He's tugged his shirt off and as you watch he gives up on managing his fly with his hands shaking, taking the easy route and vaporizing his pants entirely.

"You _shithive maggots disaster_ ," you breathe, staring. You'd figured out that whatever horrible vibrating device you were controlling was stuffed up his nook. You _hadn't_ realized that it had a smaller attachment tucked into the opening of his sheath, which is flushed and swollen, leaking around the plastic as he kneels over the pail.

"Come on, KK," he says, his voice thin and needy. "I want you so much."

You skin out of your pants, snagging the remote from the pocket before you drop them. "I shouldn't just leave you hanging like you did to me?"

"Oh my god, don't, please," he says, and the fact that he's putting it in your hands—that he would beg you to pail him instead of pointing out he could get himself off—makes you feel flushed and hot all over. You _know_ this asshole. He doesn't make himself helpless for just anyone. You kneel in front of him and kiss his perfect stupid mouth as you run your empty hand down his thorax.

He whines into your mouth when you touch the plug in his sheath. It's vibrating a little, echoes of the stronger movement of the part inside his nook. Your fingers slip on his fluids when you try to take hold of it, but after that false start you get a finger hooked into the cord that connects the two ends and ease it free. His bulges follow almost instantly, clutching your hand, twining through your fingers. A few drops of his material hit the bottom of the pail, and the sound makes your nook clench.

"Fuck, how do you manage to be so pitiable when you do this to yourself?" you ask.

It's a fucking rhetorical question, but Sollux says, "Hehe, you're not the only one here who can push buttons," and this time he's the one who kisses you before you can come up with a retort, his arms draped over your shoulders. You inch closer to him, and have to corral your own bulge before it can slip between his legs. He still has the vibrator up there, and without knowing how big it is you're not about to add your own not-inconsiderable girth.

Instead you coax one of his, longer and thinner, to curl around yours, as if you were wigglers not ready for the full pail. But you haven't been wigglers in sweeps, and Sollux's chimeric doubling means he still has a spare appendage to fill you up with. You groan as his bulge curls into your nook, making itself at home, giving you the relief you've been craving ever since he first touched you yesterday.

With your hips pressed flush, you can feel the echoes of the vibration humming in his nook, resonating up through the root of his bulges. Right now it's a steady buzz. You nudge the pattern dial on the remote and it turns into sharp pulses that make him twitch and thrash inside you. Too much. You nudge it again and it turns into a more rolling, sine-wave sort of oscillation.

"Yes, fuck, that one," Sollux moans. His claws rake down your back as he clings to you, not real roughness as much as plain desperation, and you bite his collarbone as if that could get you closer to him. It's pretty fucking phenomenal, being able to have both bulgeplay and a proper pailing at the same time, and you're rapidly losing your words. You cling to each other, biting, licking, listening to the wet noises of your junk sliding together and the drip of material into the pail.

You can tell he's getting close when your hair starts standing on end, the electrical field around him getting obvious enough to start giving off sparks. You croon, nuzzling his throat, nipping his ear, your bulge squeezing his rhythmically. You're not going to take long after he goes off—just the thought of him coming is enough to make you shudder. 

You'd almost forgotten the toy, the remote still in your hand; when you realize you're still holding it and Sollux is trembling against you like he's going to fall apart you boost the intensity just one notch more, and that does it. Sparks crackle around his eyes and he'd be bent double if you weren't holding him up, keeping him steady while he pours into the bucket in waves.

You don't know if he does it on purpose or by accident but one of his stray sparks jolts you right in the sensitive spot between the base of your sheath and the opening of your nook, and between that almost-too-much feeling and the heavy pheromone scent of Sollux's material you lose it: your globes pulse, and the shuddering heat of release liquefies every muscle you have, the bucket's rim rigid against your thighs as you sag over it.

Sollux's psionics are holding you up, you realize as you catch your breath. Holding both of you up, probably. He nuzzles you, licking the sweat from your throat and purring, as your bulges relax enough to disengage.

Instead of letting go then, though, he just floats both of you over to your recuperacoon and lowers you in gently enough to not splash. His eyes are half-closed and he has that dreamy little smile that you only ever see when he's wrung out and content about it.

The fumes from the sopor are finishing the job the orgasm started; you feel pretty droopy yourself. But it still occurs to you to ask, "What happened to your vibrator?"

He snickers. "I think it's in the bucket."

"Oh my god," you say, thumping your forehead on his shoulder.

"At least we don't have to hand it over to a drone?"

You giggle a little bit at that, because you're tired enough to be stupid, and because you don't have to fear for your life over your ability to pail successfully anymore, so it can afford to be funny. Sollux has an arm around you and is sinking slowly further into the slime, and you can't complain about that. It feels good, drifting like this, letting sleep sneak up on you slowly.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you have the best matesprit in history.


End file.
